


Embers

by RubyGrace



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-31
Updated: 2014-08-31
Packaged: 2018-02-15 12:44:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2229438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RubyGrace/pseuds/RubyGrace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Parrish has always been hot - but now he's on fire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Embers

Lifting my head wearily from the pillow, I hear the gentle click of the door, as it swings shut behind Jordan. The yellowing hall light outlines his lithe figure in gold as his well-practiced tiptoe creeps slowly inside. Hanging up his smooth, worn leather deputy’s jacket fondly crested with “Beacon Hills Police Department” over the bundle of hastily thrown coats draping limply from their coat-rack by the door, he moves towards our room, halting only when he notices my small feet dangling softly over the edge of the couch I have fallen asleep on, for the third time this week. 

“You really should be in bed you know” Parrish whispers delicately, his tired face full of apologetic sympathy.

“So should you” I retort, instantly regretting my tone as his face falls dejectedly. Although I know it isn’t his fault, the constant fear about the supernaturally induced dangers of his career alongside the persistent ache in my back from our lumpy mauve couch makes my response bitter and cold. “I’m sorry, I just worry that one day you won’t walk back through our door” I murmur, not meeting his eyes.

Taking three big steps, he reaches the ageing couch just as I straighten to a sitting position. Bending down to my level, Jordan’s abnormally bright green eyes lock onto my own, as his large, warm hands graze my narrow shoulders. “I will never leave you. I haven’t died yet, have I?” I begin to protest that, yes he most likely has died numerous times, burning to death by the frequent hunters and assassins often after them and just because he doesn’t stay dead doesn’t mean that one day he wont – and am stopped abruptly by a sudden, soft press to my lips, as Jordan prevents my spiraling panic.

The kiss deepens quickly as I bring my hand up to rest on the nape of his long, tan neck, dragging his pliant body closer to my own and knotting my fingers in the soft brown hair that curls at the base of his skull. Slipping my tongue artfully from my mouth, I nibble at his lower lip and swipe my tongue over his swollen lips, gratefully granted access as he opens his mouth to meet mine.

His sweet, overpowering taste overwhelms me as we connect, lusciously kissing along my jawline, distracting me from the sleep that threatens to remove my consciousness from the affection I’m currently receiving from Parish’s experienced hands and mouth. 

Then it hits me, my sleep-weary mind slowing my oncoming realization, the unnatural warmth of his skin, scalding against my own, like a mountain of ash, it’s embers burning furiously under the surface. Pulling away, I suddenly remove my body from his own as I stare at him blankly, shocked at his peculiar temperature. This can only happen for one reason.

“You died didn’t you?” I accuse, my almond eyes, a sudden mask of pain. He nods slowly, gesturing to his fingernails; the only area the stubborn ash still remains, after so deliberately scrubbing his body in the station’s showers in an attempt to remove all traces of his former self.

“I had hoped you would be asleep and wouldn’t notice,” he says slowly, his young eyes flitting nervously over my body. “I didn’t hurt you did I?” he continues, looking ashamed at the danger he himself had just placed me in.

“I’m fine” I reply, brushing off his unnecessary concern for my wellbeing. “In this town you are the least likely to do me harm” – we both already know that our differences make us targets, and there isn’t much we can do to stop that. “Let’s just get you to Deaton” I declare as a pull out my outdated cell from my spotted pajama pant pocket.

“What?” Parrish asks, his baritone voice rising in confusion. “Why do we need to see Deaton?” his discomfort evident on his new face, the anxiety dragging down the corners of his crimson mouth.

Having just received a reply to the message I had quickly sent off to Deaton, my eyes flick back up to lock with his own. “Because, although you haven’t realized yet, you are missing some parts,” I reply evenly as I gesture down to his soft hands, which had once possessed a large jagged scar from dropping a rather large, and rather heavy mirror when we first moved in together.

“Oh” he says, his apprehension deflating slightly. I knew Jordan didn’t like Deaton, especially with his tendency to give vague non-answers and uncanny ability to remain unconnected to the often dire situations they all face, but I had never realized that even the mere mention of the older man’s name evoked this much unease from the well-built, distinguished cop. 

Tugging his weary face towards mine in an attempt to silence the logical, yet disturbing thoughts obviously raging within his whirring brain, I kiss him. Not in the gentle way one would kiss as if under public scrutiny, but with a reckless need that tells of a thoroughly pornographic motive. Groaning as I pull away, separating our intertwined mouths, Parrish bites his lip, pulling a face that makes me almost rethink my actions and allow us to pretend our problems were like normal people’s, and could wait until tomorrow.

“No” I say as he attempts to distract me, kissing roughly down my neck. “Can’t we just stay here?” he hums his deep voice sending vibrations down my body, leaning down to suck at my neck, relishing when he knows the vessels break, leaving me with a small, round hickey the size of his well-practiced mouth. I repeat my earlier sentiment, instantly regretting my demand as he complies with my wish.

Finally – tortuously I move backwards to the other end of our long couch, placing a painful distance between us to ensure we stayed focused on the ever-important task of remaining alive. “I’ve told Deaton that you will meet him at the clinic soon, and…”

“Won’t you be there?” Jordan instantly frets, fearing isolation with the eerie doctor. “I will” I reply, “I just have to pick up Scott on my way, he needs to be there for this” I explain carefully, highlighting the importance of always having an alpha aware of his packs situation.

Parrish gently nods, standing up and stretching out his long torso. As he reaches the door, I realize I don’t know much about this death, so I ask. Stiffening, the Deputy pauses, one hand holding the door open, filtering the bright porch light inside the hallway.

Without turning to look at me, he murmurs softly over his shoulder, as if he can’t bear to see my fear, or disappointment, although he should know by now I stopped acting a paralyzed little spouse over two years ago, after he had died multiple times against the Nemeton’s latest wave of killers.

“I was at Allison’s grave” 

It has started again.


End file.
